Chapter 2 – The Life Before
I remember every detail. The cold Warsaw mornings, the scent of old books in my father's study, the hum of the city beneath the rain.
I was born Matthew Kelenski — son of a modest schoolteacher and a librarian. Quiet childhood, but never simple. The world was harsh, and I learned early that people hide things behind smiles and polite words.
My earliest memories are of watching. Not just seeing, but really watching — the subtle shifts in tone, the twitch of a finger, the flicker in an eye.
At school, I was the quiet one — the kid who always had his nose buried in a book about mysteries or logic puzzles. I devoured everything: Sherlock Holmes, Poirot, real-life cold cases from the archives.
By the time I was twelve, I understood that truth was often hidden beneath layers of lies, convenience, and fear.
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My father was a complicated man. He loved, but he was broken. After my mother left, he drank himself into silence. I learned to survive in a house filled with shadows and regrets. I found refuge in books and puzzles — anything I could solve.
At sixteen, I had already solved dozens of mysteries at school — missing items, stolen money, even exposing a cheating ring. But that was small time.
At eighteen, I applied to the police academy. They rejected me. Said I was too analytical, too impatient for their system. Said I didn't have the "right temperament." I was furious.
So, I started working independently.
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My first big break came when a local girl vanished without a trace. The police were convinced she ran away, but I wasn't.
I spent nights tracing her steps, questioning people others ignored, piecing together fragments no one else saw. Eventually, I found her — trapped in an abandoned warehouse, scared but alive.
Word spread.
By twenty-five, I had a reputation.
The cases got darker.
Serial killers, corrupt officials, hidden crimes buried by power.
I didn't care about fame or medals. I wanted results.
I didn't have a partner at first. I worked alone, driven by an obsession no one understood. I chased shadows others refused to see.
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Evan came into my life during a particularly brutal winter.
He was quiet, steady, unassuming. But he had a mind that matched mine. Sharp, analytical, loyal.
We worked together for eight years — side by side. He learned from me, and I trusted him more than anyone.
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There was a case that changed everything.
A series of murders — victims found with a spiral symbol carved into their skin, eyes open but lifeless.
No motive, no connection.
I dived into everything — old texts, cult records, ancient symbols. The spiral wasn't new. It represented an ancient secret society. A group that manipulated events from shadows, pulling strings no one knew existed.
The deeper I dug, the more I realized how far the roots went.
Judges, priests, politicians — anyone who threatened their silence disappeared.
That spiral was a warning.
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In the end, it was Evan who shot me.
I still don't know if he did it willingly, or if something had taken hold of him.
But I remember his face, the flicker of doubt, the terrible resignation.
I never stopped chasing the truth.
And that truth... It followed me here.